“Thank you, oh, thank you! It’s tiresome work, isn’t it?”
“Jiminy! I should say it was! Come on, Doll, let’s make some lemonade. I’m choked with dust and with some old dry lingo that leaked out of my wise books. Come on, Dollums.”
“All right. Got any lemons?”
“Yep, brought some on purpose. Sugar too. And we can make it in that darling kitchenettio!”
Away the girls went, and concocted lemonade that tasted like fairy nectar. To squeeze lemons by means of their own glass squeezer, to get sugar out of their own sugar-box (after they had put it in), to draw water from their own flashing, shining, silver-plated faucets,—this was joy indeed!
“Seems to me I never tasted anything so good,” said Dolly, gazing into her glass, as they sat at their golden dining-room table.
“Nor I. But it makes me so fearfully hungry.”
“At one we must go home to lunch, I s’pose. Wish we could lunch here.”
“We will next Saturday, but of course, we’ve got to get a lot of things together to do that.”
“It’s nearly one, now. We must finish up this lemonade and scoot. Will you come back right after your lunch is over?”